


Children of the Clown

by LadyHat



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward parties, Babies, Bad Parenting, Drugs, High School, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Shitty Teen dad AU, Slow Build, Teen parent, Underage Drinking, everyone is human, gross food, more pairings added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHat/pseuds/LadyHat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard being an unwed teenage mother. Especially if you're a drug dealing teenage boy who has slept with every person on your street. </p><p>Where Gamzee is a shitty teen dad, goes to awkward parties and has awkward sex. Involves hipsters, drugs and bad parenting all around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I think that's a baby

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so lets get these notes out of the way  
> -Everyone is human  
> -Yeah the name is a children of the corn reference  
> -Other pairings will be added later, I'm just not sure which yet  
> -The romance is pretty slow, sorry  
> \- It will be pretty long, but not insanely long hopefully  
> -Not sure if this will ever move up to Explicit but who knows, if it does I'll change the tags  
> -Calliope and Caliborn are Gamzee's children, he just calls them little brother or sister  
> -If there are any mistakes Agh I'm really sorry I don't have a beta  
> Thanks for reading my story!

After much careful evaluation and thought, he had come to conclusion that yes, he was holding a baby. Why was he holding a baby? A small whimper drew his attention to the other little bundle at his feet. Two babies. He had two babies. Who in their right mind would trust him with children? Honestly, he was still a little fuzzy on that himself. It’s not every day you wake up, eat some stale fruit loops, drink two litres of Faygo and open the door to have an angry young lady shove wriggling things in your face.

_They're fucking yours and I can’t fucking take care of them anymore._

Well neither can fucking _you_. You can’t do this, what about school? Money? Hell, how the motherfuck do you even feed a baby? That girl didn’t even leave some instructions, just threw them at him and left. Who was she anyway? He doesn’t remember her face at all. Too many one-night stands while being high out of his mind probably doesn’t help.

Bending down he grabbed the other baby, holding both in his arms. One of them, a girl, gurgled happily, waving her chubby hands. On her t-shirt, written in messy green pen read _Calliope_. The other one (a boy maybe) was fidgeting and squawking angrily, clawing at his cheek with blunt nails. On his nappy was scrawled ~~_Shithead_~~ , but seemed to be reluctantly scribbled out and corrected with _Caliborn_.

“Better get you two little motherfuckers inside,” He said, mildly struggling to close the door while holding them. He sighed. “This is already hard.”

His appartment was a mess. Clothes and bottles of faygo strewn all over, carpet a dirty grey, Evil Clown posters half hanging on the walls, week old food left out on the table to rot, a torn up coach missing a few cushions. His room an unholy nightmare of Doritos, faygo, and weed. Plus there was that weird stuff always dripping from the ceiling.

Walking over to the coach he plopped the two onto the cleanest looking patch. He knelt down on the floor in front of them, resting his too heavy head on his palms. Caliborn was still making those awful noises, pounding his little fists in the air. Calliope ignored him, eyes traveling around the room in wonderment before settling on the strange lanky teen in front of her and giving him a big dribbly smile.

“Damn little sister, you got some miraculous happy-face there.”

It was that exact moment that the situation finally dawned on Gamzee Makara, seventeen-year-old high school pothead, who practically lived alone and could barely take care of himself, had two children. His children.

“Oh _shit_.”

 

* * *

 

 

One week. Gamzee had one week till school started and the holidays ended. One week to get this cluster fuck sorted out and be totally chill, or have everything come crashing down on him. Running his fingers through his tangled greasy hair, Gamzee groaned. He felt a headache coming on.

“Don’t move my wicked wrigglers, just got to go and motherfucking get something.” He leaned forward and playfully poked Caliborn. Caliborn however, took this as a heinous offence and decided to clamp his newly discovered jaws onto Gamzee’s hand.

“Motherfucking little shit!” He yelped, recoiling in fear. Calliope agreed with him, whimpering quietly. “I’m just gonna be in the kitchen for a second.” He looked at Caliborn and Calliope, his wicked little brother was eyeing her nastily, before scooping her up in his arm. Caliborn shrieked, thrashing and kicking. Gamzee, having no idea what to do, hurriedly ambled into the kitchen, Calliope clutching his shirt with tiny fists. “That little bro is one cranky motherfucker.” She cooed softly in return.

The tiles of the kitchen floor were oily against his skin; he would probably slip if not for years of practice. Clearing a spot and sitting Calliope on the bench, Gamzee opened a few draws, mumbling in irritation until he pulled out a small orange cylinder, shaking it to check if it wasn’t empty. Unscrewing the lid, he threw his head back and swallowed two pills dry. Calliope watched on curiously. Gamzee grabbed her and propped her up on his hip.

“Just taken’ my medicine chica, man I don’t even know where I put em’, they just all up and appear when I need the motherfuckers…miracles.” He said distractedly, Caliborn’s increased wailing ringing in his ears. “I’m coming!” He called. Caliborn was now on his stomach beating his hands and legs, throwing a full-blown tantrum, cheeks puffy and wet with tears. “Hey hey chill my little motherfucker.” Gamzee said awkwardly, switching Calliope for Caliborn. Immediately the demonic child sunk his teeth into Gamzee’s shoulder. Luckily, Gamzee refrained from throwing the gremlin across the room, instead shakily patting his back. Eventually Caliborn stopped crying, although he didn’t release Gamzee’s shoulder. His eyes were peacefully closed as he sucked and gnawed contently.

“Could you maybe take your teeth from my skin bro?” Caliborn either didn’t understand or care as he continued happily chewing Gamzee’s arm. “Ok, that’s cool.” He hissed in pain from particularly enthusiastic bite.

The sun eventually began to wane, his apartment growing dark and the babies’ hungry. Calliope snivelled, her tummy making tiny grumbles. Caliborn screamed bloody murder, yanking at Gamzee’s hair and snapping at his fingers. Gamzee himself was on a complete loss. They had teeth (unfortunately) so that meant they didn’t need to drink milk anymore right? What would they want?

What resulted was an array of the possibly the most disgustingly unhealthy food that had ever been forced upon a child. Pulling out a bowl and filling it with crushed Doritos, adding half a cup of water, he created a bright orange paste. Next were some instant mashed potatoes, a half-eaten chocolate bar and a bottle of his wicked elixir.

They all sat huddled together, the two siblings having one leg each. He could only find two clean spoons, so the babies had to share. Now that they both were calm (as calm as Caliborn could be) he could finally relax and get a proper look at them.

Calliope was smaller than her brother, a bit thinner as well. Both had fair blonde hair, so light it seemed almost white. Although so thin one would think they were bald. She wore a lime green shirt and matching shorts. It was glaringly obvious, even to Gamzee’s slow mind that they were twins; the only tell-tale difference between them (besides personality) was their eyes. Calliopes eyes are a vibrant green, while Caliborns are more like Gamzee’s, a strange shade of purple. However his eyes always seemed to be budging and slightly red around the edges, even before he was having a fit. Gamzee wasn’t sure how old they were either.

Caliborn was quite chubby, his cheeks full and round. He wore a black shirt and a nappy, having long since kicked off his pants and lost them his mother’s car during a previous outburst. Both these articles of clothing, including Gamzee’s shirt had been caked in Dorito purée and potato. Not wanting to be sticky Gamzee striped them all of their shirts, leaving him in a white singlet and two half naked children clad only in nappies resting on his chest. Calliopes cheerful babbling filled the silence, Gamzee absently nodding every few minutes. Caliborn begrudgingly listened too, occasionally growling and unsuccessfully stabbing Gamzee with a spoon. It felt nice, just having some company. The house was always so empty, unless he miraculously could convince his best friend Karkat to come over and watch his RomComs or if customers came by.

“I really can’t motherfucking do this,” He thought aloud. “I mean, I really, really can’t do this.” Calliope paused in her rambles and peered up at him confused. She reached up and gently squeezed his nose, giggling. Caliborn had long since fallen asleep, sucking his thumb and a hand tangled in Gamzee’s hair. He grinned tiredly for her, patting her head. She smiled back, a long line of drool streaming down her chin.

Careful but clumsy, Gamzee clutched the twins close and wobbled to his room, stumbling over random soda bottles and clothes. Running up and dramatically flopping back onto his lumpy mattress, with Caliborn whining in protest and Calliope squealing in delight. Gamzee laughed, feeling the duo scramble all over him. It took about half an hour for them to settle down again, but Gamzee didn’t even notice, too distracted by his own thoughts. They feel asleep bundled together; Calliope snuggled up under his chin and Caliborn draped over his face, still pulling at his hair. Gamzee’s deep snores echoed through the house. He dreamed of swirling colours and green angels.

 

“Ome.” Gamzee lazily blinked awake, greeted by the sight of a strangely solemn Calliope. “Wa-n m-mamm-a” She worried, eyes watering. “M-ama!” She howled. Gamzee swallowed. He thought maybe yesterday had been a weirdly vivid dream or some hallucination from mixing his medication again. But here was a crying baby girl sitting on him wondering where her mother was. His heart sunk. This he definitely didn’t know how to deal with. He shook his head. Calliope whined, tugging at his singlet. He turned to see Caliborn thankfully still snoozing. What time was it anyways? Gamzee blindly reached out for the clock resting on the nightstand. Feeling the dusty plastic he brought it to his face. He looked at Calliope in disbelief.

“It’s motherfucking six o’clock. You’re up at motherfucking six o’clock,” He paused, bewildered. “ _I’m_ up at motherfucking six o’clock.” Gamzee softly patted Calliopes cheeks. “Miracles.”

“Mu-amah.” She stubbornly returned, hiccupping. He moaned, tossing the blanket off the bed.

“Ten more minutes lil’ chica?” He pleaded.

“Ma-ma!”

“Okay, okay, mother fucking fine.” He sighed, scratching his face grimacing when he saw crusty paint on his fingers. “Forgot to clean my paint off.” He mumbled, rolling out off the side and falling to the floor. “Hrhmmmm…” Gamzee lay there, on the dirty carpet and closed his eyes.

“Maaaaaaa-maa!” His eyes snapped open. There goes that idea. He hauled himself up, but stumbled and fell back onto his arse.

“Shit.” He grasped the edge of the bed and shakily heaved himself back to his feet. Gamzee picked Calliope up and wondered into the bathroom, cautious not to trip and fall over again.

The light clicked and flickered, a few moths dancing around the naked bulb. It was still dark outside, the streets vacant besides a few cars. Gamzee squinted as he turned on the mirror light and placed Calliope on the bench. He rinsed his face and dried it with a towel. Calliope was sniffling softly, nibbling at her fingers.

“Okay, um. Fuck lil’ sis.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Your mama ain’t gonna be around for a long, long time. I mean I don’t even know if you’ll up and motherfucking see her again…” Calliope stared back at him, wide eyes confused. He bopped her nose “I sure am glad you can’t motherfucking understand me sis, cause to tell you the truth,” He whispered the last part. “I don’t ever wanna motherfucking see that scary bitchtits chica ever again.”

Reaching into the cupboard he grabbed two tins of face paint and focused on carefully re-applying it. Calliope curiously dipped her hand into the paint and licked her fingers. She squealed and gagged in disgust, spitting and dribbling.

“Nah nah! Like this,” Gamzee chuckled, messily painting her face. It was far from perfect, her face a smudge of white and grey that vaguely resembled his own, if you squinted hard. “Well ain’t you the most motherfucking miraculous beauty these eyes have ever seen.” He washed her face with a towel and picked her up, walking back to the bedroom. Caliborn was wrapped in blankets, snuggled up in a pillow. “Thank the mirthful messiahs he’s still asl-“

_HOOOOOOOOOOOONK_

“Shit!” He had stepped on a horn. Immediately Caliborn perked up and screamed. “Oh motherfuck…” Gamzee moaned, reluctantly moving towards him. It seemed like he was constantly switching the two, putting down Calliope and only to be grabbing Caliborn. Caliborn of course snarled and fought him viciously. Gamzee tried to put him back down, yet he would only shriek louder and yank Gamzee’s hair. “Motherfucker, you really need to all up and decide on what you want, ‘cause you be screwing my brain… and my skin.” Caliborn actually giggled and bit him. “You motherfucking _shithead._ ” 

There was no food. Gamzee opened every draw and cabinet yet found only three bottles of Faygo and a box of fuzzy mystery fruits. He came to the realisation that they needed to go outside and buy food. Gamzee scrunched his nose. Nappies too. The babies sat on the coach, seeming to be engaging in an incomprehensible argument. Another problem arose. They were both half naked. Gamzee looked down at his own clothes.

“Seems we all be needing a motherfucking change up in here.”

Calliope was drowning in one of his old T-shirts and had readorned her green shorts. Caliborn was much more difficult to clothe. He wore a shirt so long it was a dress, Caliborn didn’t mind, but the worst part was making a replacement nappy. Using a tea towel and tying it up with an old shoelace worked for now. They didn’t have any shoes, but he made sure to give them both socks. Socks are impotant. Gamzee himself wore the exact same poka-dot pyjama pants he fell asleep in, a somewhat fresh shirt, a purple jacket and old runners. Deciding that they were decent enough to brave the outside world, scrounging up some of the money his dad had left him, Gamzee cradled the twins in his arms and went out the door.

The block he lived in was an old government building, graffiti scrawled all over the yellowed walls. Old woman Abigail was getting her mail, grumbling under her breath, pausing when she spotted Gamzee.

“Who in their right minds would trust _you_ with a couple of babes?” She said, waving her walking stick.

“I don’t even right motherfucking know that.” Gamzee answered cheerfully, walking past her. She snorted and hobbled back into her apartment.

The streets were cold and grey; Gamzee hugged the two closer to himself as protection from the wind.

“Not the best of motherfucking days to be getting our spending on huh?” Calliope whimpered at the strong gusts, nuzzling closer to his chest. Caliborn didn’t care at all, screeching at a flock of birds and biting at the air. “You motherfucking scare me lil brother.” Gamzee said.

Corner stores, in Gamzee’s opinion, were a miracle. He spoke these very words aloud as he browsed the limited selection. Calliope reached out to grab a can of spaghetti-O’s, but her twin snatched it and threw it across the aisle screaming. Gamzee didn’t even bother scolding Caliborn anymore.

“What do wrigglers motherfucking like?” He shifted, perching Calliope a top his shoulders. Gamzee bent down and picked up the discarded can of spaghetti-O’s. He showed the brightly coloured label to Calliope. “Does this get your tastebros watering?” She warbled and reached out for it. Gamzee chuckled and let her hug the can to her chest. He shovelled a dozen into a plastic bag and moved on.

Gamzee’s two plastic bags were full of canned spaghetti and beans, dried fruits, a packet of cherry red sausages that Caliborn refused to put down, some kind of yogurt, a can of Korean baby formula, several bags of lollies and of course more Faygo with a healthy packet of Doritos. All that was left was nappies. And clothes, but they sadly didn’t sell baby clothes at corner stores much to Gamzee’s disappointment. He took the first pack he saw and read the instructions.

“The fuck is a ' _compact lock-away cell’_?” He questioned, brows knit in confusion. “I just want a motherfucking good nappy.” He picked through them for ten minutes, becoming increasingly jumbled and frustrated. He closed his eyes reached out blindly and chose whichever one was lucky. “Leave it up to miracles.” He sighed contently.

He paid for it with the little money he had left, getting a small discount due to half the food being passed it’s used by date. More people were beginning to loiter around the streets, cars going passed sluggishly on the cracked roads. Gamzee made an effort to avoid them, too tired to deal with grumbling men who no doubt would be pissed off if he bumped them or if Caliborn decided to take out a piece of their arm. The little beast was watching them quietly, blood shot eyes twitching. Calliope nervously leaned away from her twin. Gamzee blinked groggily, yawning loudly. “It’s too early my little wicked wrigglers. Too motherfucking early…” He mumbled, arms aching from the combined weight of the twins and the bags. He stepped in an oily puddle, ignoring the moist squelching his foot made every time he walked. Finally, they arrived back at the apartment complex.

The trek up the stairs was exhausting, Gamzee living on the seventh floor and the elevator was a malfunctioning death-trap. He whispered a small prayer of thanks to the messiahs as he shoved the keys into the lock of his apartment door.

**7-420B**

The seven and B had long ago been pried off; brown watery out line stains all that was left behind.

Slamming the thin door behind him, Gamzee dumped the children onto the lounge and chucked the food on the kitchen table. He fell to the ground, lying on his belly, face pressed into the grimy carpet. Eyes heavy, he closed them. His mind became blissfully blank, a black numbness. For a time he lay on floor, twin voices squabbling distantly, on the edge of sleep and consciousness. It felt as if he was a part of the ground, body merging with the carpet, limbs feather light yet unbelievably heavy. Whispers, only faint slithered behind the darkness. He could hear them. He could always hear them. His left eye twitched sporadically, but his face remained lax. It wasn’t dreaming. It wasn’t real sleep.

_Ding-ding dong-dong bring-ding_

Gamzee’s eyes slowly opened. He steadily sat up and reached for his phone, disjointed nonlinear carnival music crackling from the speakers. He glanced up at the babies, both fast asleep on the coach curled up together. Gamzee grinned and pressed the blinking green answer button.

“Hey fucker, because you’re a useless piece of shit who never answers your fucking phone I’m calling-“

“Hey best friend!”

“Wait. What the fuck, you actually answered your shitty phone? On the first try too, congratulations, you shit stain. I’m so fucking proud of you. I should take a photo, bring you a fucking cake to commemorate this event.”

“Wow best friend, that’s motherfucking awesome.” Gamzee chirped.

“No it’s not you piss-brained rambling fuckhead. I’m calling to ask about if you’ve seen that massive asshole Eridan,”

“Never heard of that motherfucker,” Gamzee said, struggling to think.

“You know that mega hipster douche with the rings and shit. With purple dickhead streak in his hair, always said it was ‘violet’ or something. Fuck that you pretentious cock, its fucking purple. Uh, I think he like bought weed from you once. Fuck everyone buys weed from you. The dickhead with a made up accent and talks like a fucking fish. Works at Starbucks.”

“Oh yeah, that guy.” Gamzee nodded absently, picking at his nails.

“Yes. Well he like ran away from or home or some shit like a fucking hormonal teenage girl and hasn’t been seen for like, three fucking days. I don’t care or anything, but I’ve had a shit load of dickbags trolling me today about it. Well? Heard anything?”

“Nah brother I ain’t heard nothing from no Eribro. Sorry.”

“Whatever. He’ll just come back anyway and probably pretend nothing fucking happened. Whiny little shit…also, why didn’t you answer your Trollian? The only reason I’m even fucking calling you is because I was running out of options you cock-sucking fuckface.”

Gamzee laughed, the sound waking Caliborn. Caliborn screamed and kicked Calliope in the tummy. In turn Calliope let out a high pitched wail. They both started crying and flailing.

“Ah shit.” Gamzee grunted, getting up and began pulling them apart, still holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder.

“What the fuck is that? Is that a baby? Where the fuck are you?” Karkat said, confused. Gamzee muttered under his breath about headaches and cuddled Calliope to his chest, while trapping Caliborn gently between his thighs.

“M’at home best friend,” He mumbled.

“Hold on, why are is there fucking baby at your house, with you? Oh my god did you steal it? You can’t just steal a baby Gamzee! You could go to gaol you stupid asshole! Is that what you want? Ok, ok calm down I can fix this, I’m coming over.” Karkat’s voice was a jumbled slur of panic.

“No, best friend-“

“Did you let anyone see you? Please don’t tell me you let anyone see you. Prison, Gamzee, prison. Don’t worry, stop worrying. Do you know whose baby it is? Does it have a name tag or collar or some shit? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” Gamzee could hear the sound of Karkat tripping over and throwing things. He was really freaking out.

“Best friend…”He tried.

“Shit, they won’t believe us. You’ll go to gaol for like ten or twenty fucking years.”

“Best friend!” He heard Karkat shakily inhale.

“What Gamzee?”

“They’re mine.” Silence.

“They?” Karkat spoke quietly.

“Yeah.”

“…How many?”

“Two.”

“When?”

“Yesterday, their momma dropped them off.”

“Are…are you sure they're yours?” Gamzee looked at Caliborn’s angry purple eyes.

“Yeah.” 

"Who?"

“I don’t know.” He said softly. He looked down at the twins and their swollen tear stained faces.

“Shit.”

Gamzee swallowed thickly. Talking about, motherfucking speaking aloud that he had two kids to look after. He didn’t know what he was doing. He kept trying to avoid thinking about it, distracting himself with little things. But now someone knew it wasn’t just in his own little world anymore.

“Yeah,” His voice quivered slightly. “Shit.”

“I’m still coming over.” Karkat’s voice was firm, regaining some of his previous strength. “And I’m bringing Fifty First Dates you dick.”

 

 


	2. Drugs are Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RomComs, bad parenting, drug dealing and aspirin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I'm going to try and update every once and a while, sorry if it the wait ever gets a bit long, but dagnabbit I will finish this story! Also Tavros will come around in the next few chapters, Hopefully. Sorry for the wait, but I promise it will happen.  
> Thanks for reading!

_Knock_

_Knock_

_Knock_

Gamzee sat up from the coach and walked to the door, both excited and dreading to see his best friend.

“Open the door you idiot! I’m fucking freezing!” Karkat shouted, banging against the thin wood.

“I’m coming best friend!” Gamzee grinned and fiddled with the knob, flinging the door open and wrapping his arms around Karkat’s small frame. Karkat squawked and attempted to smack Gamzee’s hands away innately. But Gamzee would have none of it, lifting him off the ground. He pressed his face into Karkat’s hair, nuzzling it fondly. Karkat complained vehemently, struggling and shoving at Gamzee’s chest. “It’s motherfucking miraculous to see you, best friend.” Karkat’s muffled grunt was returned. Once he safely placed Karkat down, Gamzee realised that his shirt was now damp. Karkat noticed as well, shoving past him to get inside.

“It’s fucking pouring out there.” He muttered, pulling off his soaked parka. “You got a shirt I can borrow? Preferably on without clowns or smells like weed. You know what? I shouldn’t even fucking bother asking. Just give me one that smells the least like you do. Please.” Gamzee smiled and strode across to his room, wide grin never leaving his face. It took a while, but he did eventually find a shirt that belonged to his dad. Quickly he changed his own top before going out. Gamzee paused. He looked down at the shelf next to his bed. A small orange bottle sat atop it. Gamzee walked over and twisted the cap, swallowing two bright pink and yellow pills.

“Bad motherfucking idea to forget my medicine.” He said absent-mindedly.

“Hey asshole, hurry up!” Karkat yelled from next-door.

“Yeah, I’m coming!”

Karkat was waiting for him, shivering. “You’re house doesn’t have any fucking heat you dickhole, I could have died of hypothermia by now.” He scowled as Gamzee threw him the shirt. Gamzee chuckled, flopping cross-legged to the ground.

An awkward silence fell over them. Karkat shifted uncomfortably.

“Close your eyes,” He snapped.

“What?”

“Do it!” Gamzee covered his eyes, stifling a laugh.

“Done?”

“No! Fuck off!”

“Now?”

“I’m finished.” Karkat glared, rolling up the sleeves to his wrists. “This is the fuglist fucking shirt in the history of fucking ugly shirts. Thanks Gamzee.”

“You’re welcome Karbro.” Gamzee hummed. It took him about fifteen minutes to notice that Karkat was staring. Gamzee turned to the two sniffling babies on the coach.

Gamzee nodded. Karkat pressed his palms to his eyes, deep in thought. Gamzee nervously scratched him arm, it wasn’t itchy.

“You can’t keep them Gamzee,” He said. Gamzee turned sharply.

“Hm?”

Karkat dropped down next to Gamzee onto the floor, directly across from the children.

“You can’t take care of them.”

“Wh-“

“You’re a seventeen year old, unemployed dumbass drug dealer who lives in a shitty apartment by himself. You can’t raise a baby, let alone fucking two. How did this even happen?” Gamzee rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t even up and motherfucking know. I was at a party? Maybe? Motherfuck… I was high as shit.”

Karkat snorted.

“Well that’s fucking predictable; Jesus of all my friends to have the fucking luck of knocking someone up, it just had to be you. No, because the universe just has to fuck me specifically up the ass. Why for fucks sake did you not wear a condom? What were you on?”

“Pot probably?” He paused in thought. “Some meth?”

“Meth? _Meth?_ ” Karkat blanched. Caliborn snarled, red eyes bulging. “Explains that thing.” Calliope cried, chewing on her clothes. Gamzee reached over to pick her up, rocking her. Caliborn screamed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “When was the last time you fed them?” Karkat said.

“Uh, last night.” Gamzee said sheepishly. Karkat rolled his eyes.

“See? You can’t even feed them, piss-brain.” Gamzee frowned, thrusting Calliope into Karkat’s arms. Karkat yelped, close to dropping the snivelling child. “Come back here you asshole! Take it! Take it back you festering dick-bag!” He shouted. Calliope whined, clutching his shirt. Karkat held Calliope cautiously, rearranging her repetitively.

Gamzee clumsily ripped open the groceries, cans spilling out. He snatched two up and took out a large plastic container, dumping the cold Spaghetti-O’s inside. He hurriedly washed a spoon (the same from last night) and returned to his noisy friend. He plucked Calliope from Karkat's arms and flopped on to the coach, dragging Caliborn closer. Scooping up a spoon full and wiggling in front of Caliborn’s face. Caliborn giggled, lunging to bite it. Gamzee smiled proudly.

“See? I can feed them.”

Karkat exhaled softly, the bruises under his eyes looking particularly dark today.

“I’m surprised they haven’t fucking gotten second-hand high from just breathing the same air as you.”

Gamzee stared blankly.

“What?”

“Oh for fucks sake never mind.”

“Okay best friend.” He said. Calliope warbled, spaghetti O’s dribbling down her face, reaching for more. Caliborn, not waiting for Gamzee to feed him decided to bury his head into the bowel, tomato sauce bubbling. Gamzee smiled, gently patting his head. Karkat picked through his bag, pulling out three DVDs.

“We are watching each and every fucking one of these masterpieces, right now.” He threw one at Gamzee’s head. It bounced off, throwing his head to the side. He blinked, confused.

“Ouch.”

“We’re watching Fifty First Dates first, then Bridget Jones’s Diary and of course Pretty Woman. And maybe, maybe if I feel like the world has taken another gigantic shit on me and these artworks of cinema aren’t enough,” He pulled out another DVD almost reverently. “We will watch 10 Things I Hate About You.”

Of course they did, with Karkat blubbering, laughing and clinging to a pillow through all four movies.

“I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all…”He whispered along, lips quaking and eyes wet with tears. Calliope joining in, most likely to make him feel better. Caliborn sat cackling at their misery. Gamzee zoned-out, softly stroking Calliope or Karkat’s back when the movie became too much for them. Karkat sniffed, wiping away some snot onto his sleeve. The sun had disappeared, along with it half the food. Gamzee had made three bottles of Korean baby mix or 슈퍼 YUM! YUM! 아기 혼합. Two for Calliope and Caliborn and another for Gamzee, after seeing how much they enjoyed it wanted some too.

“Not motherfucking bad.”

Karkat munched on some mac & cheese he had brought with him. Years of friendship with Gamzee had taught him to bring his own snacks unless he wanted to risk food poisoning. Again.

Changing the babies into two of his shirts, Gamzee put Calliope to bed, she fell asleep instantly. Caliborn threw a fit and wouldn’t let Gamzee put him down, scratching and clawing to stay on. It was an intense battle of wills, one that Gamzee couldn’t win. He hummed and wrapped Caliborn up in a raggedy pillow case, cradling him. Slowly he drifted off, suckling Gamzee’s shirt. The credits rolled by slowly, volume turned low. Karkat half-heartedly licking the artificial cheese from the bowl. He glanced at Gamzee cuddling Caliborn, and sighed.

“How are you going to look after them?” He said quietly. Gamzee tore his gaze from Caliborn and looked at Karkat. “Your shitty dad only sends you enough money to pay rent and you get all your money by fucking dealing and even than you only have enough to scape by you skinny asshole,”

“Looks like I’ll need to be motherfucking getting a job.”

“Or two.” Karkat added.

“Yeah, motherfucking double.” Gamzee said, listening to Caliborn’s breathing. Karkat crossed his arms, sagging into the lounge.

“What about school? Fucking starts in a week, if you’re working and going to school, who’s going to look after the little shits?” Gamzee pressed his palm to his face, scrunching his eyes.

“Motherfucking don’t know bro, okay?” His voiced raised slightly. “Babysitter or some shit?” Karkat was silent.

“Maybe three jobs then,” A loud groan was his reply. “Go to bed you dickhole. I’m crashing on your coach, might be a festering piece of garbage but I’m not walking home. It’s cold, wet as balls and fucking dark.” Snuggling into his jumper, Karkat began getting comfortable. “You got a fucking blanket?” Gamzee nodded and searched the apartment, only finding a slightly moist quilt. Karkat moaned and took it grudgingly. Gamzee yawned and stumbled to bed, careful not to squash Calliope. Pulling up the blanket and holding Caliborn close, sleep came easy.

 

* * *

 

Gamzee woke to screaming. Vaulting upwards, he attempted to stand in a daze, dry drool sticking to his chin.

“What? What is it?” He slurred, tangling himself in the sheets. He twisted in panic, trying to stand. The blankets and sheets wrapped around him, trapping him in a cocoon. Gamzee groaned in confusion, the wailing ringing through his ears. He kicked his legs out, waving his arms frantically. He rolled off the bed with a heavy thud. “Ow, what is it? What’s happening?” Gamzee crawled across the floor, eyes blurry with sleep. Propelling forwards using his arms and abdomen he slid as if he was a caterpillar. “Where are you motherfuckers? What’s happening?” He rolled around in search. The shrieks drifted from the coach. “I’m coming! Hold up a second.”

Calliope sat sniffling softly, tucked under a quilt. Caliborn had fallen to the floor, lying down on his belly, fat tears and snot dripping from his face. Scooting swiftly Gamzee picked him up and cradled him close. Caliborn gurgled, face scrunching up angrily but thankfully no longer screaming Gamzee’s ears raw. “What are you two wicked wrigglers doing, getting your cry on out here?” He asked, almost expecting them to answer. He lifted Caliborn off the floor and placed him next to his sister. “Ok, about time I got myself out of this twisty bed burrito.” He muttered, turning onto his back to see what the damage was. “Hm.”

It took him about fifteen minutes to eventually escape the mess of sheet and blanket. During which both Caliborn and Calliope started crying again. Gamzee shakily stood up, unable to regain his balance. He glanced down. Seems he had lost his pants in the scuffle with the bed burrito. “Don’t even motherfucking need pants anyways,” He scooped them both up, careful to keep them apart. “Now,” He hummed “What was I doing?” Gamzee’s stomach rumbled. He looked down in surprise. “Must have had a motherfucking craving from some food.” Calliope blew a raspberry in return.

Dropping the twins on the bench, Gamzee searched for food, pulling out the tub of mystery yogurt from the fridge. He snorted, rubbing his nose on the collar of his shirt.

“Bet this will taste motherfucking miraculous,” He tore off the lid with his teeth. “Gonna be so motherfucking good.” He shoveled a glob into his mouth using his hands. It tasted sweetly of vanilla and honey. He swirled his finger in the yogurt, playing with its watery consistency, catching a few lumps. “Oh motherfucking cool, has blueberries,” He pulled the twins close, holding yogurt soaked fingers to their mouths. “Yum yums motherfuckers.” Calliope giggled and ate happily, slurping away. Caliborn took more convincing, Gamzee waving his fingers in front of his face until his bit down. He winced in pain, but it was worth it to see Caliborn resentfully eat. After a couple more mouthfuls and bleeding fingers later, everyone was happily fed. It was only after staring at a wall for an oddly long time did Gamzee notice the note taped to the fridge.

_HELLO YOU PISS-BRAINED COCK MUNCHING ASS,_

_BET IT TOOK YOU A WHILE TO FIND THIS OBVIOUS NOTE PLACED CONVENIENTLY IN PLAIN SIGHT. FUCKING DUMBASS. HAD TO LEAVE BECAUSE UNLIKE YOU I HAVE FUCKING RESPONSIBILITIES. LITTLE FAT CRYING THINGS WANTED FOOD BUT SINCE YOU’RE A DUMB FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT WHO SLEEPS LIKE A FUCKING ROCK I GAVE THEM SOME DISGUSTING AND MOST LIKELY UNSAFE SLIME SOME COMPANY IN KOREA FUCKING DARES TO CALL MILK._

_PUT THEM ON YOUR UGLY COACH BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU SQUASHING THEM. HOWEVER JUDGING BY THE FACT THAT YOU’RE SO FREAKISHLY SKINNY THEY WOULD MORE LIKELY FUCKING CRUSH YOU. EAT SOME FOOD YOU DICK._

_CALL ME IF YOU HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT THE HIPSTER DOUCHE._

_TAKE A SHOWER YOU FUCKING SMELL LIKE A ROTTING DOG CARCASS COVERED IN SHIT._

_GET A JOB._

_EAT SOMETHING. FAYGO IS NOT FUCKING FOOD._

_THAT’S NOT BLUEBERRIES._

_IF YOU NEED HELP, ANY AT ALL CALL ME FUCKASS_

_-KARKAT_

Gamzee grinned, licking the left over yogurt from his fingers. “Karbro is the bestest motherfucker a motherfucker could have,” He said serenely, patting his stomach. He winced, scrunching his face at the sudden pinch in his abdomen. “Gotta pee something real bad.” He poked the twins in the tummy, pushing them back further on the bench.

Jogging through the living room he slipped over the dismembered remains of the bed burrito, falling sideways and landing hard on his shoulder. “Ah motherfuck,” He mumbled into the carpet. He pushed himself up, groaning at the twinge throbbing in his shoulder. “Just wanted to use the motherfucking bathroom, got myself all bruising purple and shit over it.” Slowly, he waddled into his room, rubbing his shoulder. Pushing open the chipped yellow door he stepped inside the tiny bathroom.

The bathroom could only hold a small rusty sink, a toilet with a green plastic seat in the corner and a cramped shower which took up roughly two thirds of the space. Between the greying tiles was stuffed ripe with black mould that crawled upwards, spider-webbing across the roof in black peppered splotches. At the sink a Dora the explorer sup held a single purple toothbrush and a crumpled tube of cool berry flavoured tooth paste. Stumbling towards the toilet he shimmied out of his pants and pushed up the toilet seat, yawing loudly. When Gamzee yawned, as his friends and customers frequently noticed, was that he squished his face back into his chin, squinted his eyes (which if one looked close enough see that his left eye would go cross-eyed. Only the left.) While his tongue poked out slightly, giving the world a lovely view of his tonsils. Karkat had described as like watching the hideous offspring of a retarded pug and cleft-lipped baboon give birth to a pinecone.

After he finished his business, he tugged up his pants and stepped in front of his mirror. He frowned at the cracked and flaky face paint, opening a cupboard he pulled out the two tins and reapplied it over the old. He scrunched his face, smiling at the odd sensation of wet and dry paint mixing on his skin. Gamzee played with his face for a few minutes until the feeling faded away and wasted a few more when he forgot what he was meant to be doing there. He left the bathroom and walked back to the kitchen.

Caliborn was on the edge of the bench, screaming as his small chubby legs dangled off the side. In his fat fist he gripped Calliope’s little wrist, determined to drag her down with him. He spat and hissed, face dripping with slobber and tears. Calliope whimpered and squealed, kicking out her feet, trying to get a grip on the slick countertop. Gamzee stared at the scene for a moment, unable to comprehend what was happening. When Caliborn slipped down an extra inch, Gamzee finally snapped out his trance, bumping into the wall as he frantically ran towards them. He dived onto the floor, cringing as the skin of his elbows rubbed roughly against the tiles, a revived burning sting pulsed down his shoulder. Caliborn had fallen first directly onto Gamzee’s face, doughy body smothering him. Calliope fell shortly after, landing on Gamzee’s stomach, winding him. He choked in surprise, his body tight in shock. He shuddered and wrapped an arm around Calliope and pulled Caliborn off his face by the scruff of his shirt. He dropped him down next to his sister. “Don’t do that,” He said. “Don’t do that, okay?” He inhaled. “Let’s not do that,” He closed his eyes. “I didn’t like that.”

 

* * *

 

It was five-forty three, the sky faded and streaked with swollen dark swirls. Six days until school started. Or was it five? Gamzee pressed his forehead on the chilled window. He wasn’t sure. Peering down at the grey leaden movement of the streets below, he chewed at his nails. The babies were napping, which apparently they should do a lot, tucked in tightly. Sounds from other apartments seeped through the walls, creating a comforting blanket of noise.

“Think I might just motherfucking take myself for a stroll,” He said, turning away from the window. He scooped up a hooded jumper from the floor and quietly stumbled to the door, before pausing. He held out the jumper and rummaged inside the pockets, pulling out a worn ICP wallet. He opened and found nothing but a used bus ticket from 2008, a dusty piece of gum, an expired coupon for twenty percent off cream cheese, membership to all night karaoke bar and a picture of a dog. He held the dog photo close. “What a miraculous motherfucker,” He twisted his neck in thought. “Don’t think I ever even had a motherfucking dog before,” Turning the picture around he found an inscription, written with cherry red ink in neat, loopy handwriting.

_Ziggy, You were such a good boy, we’ll never forget you._

_Hope you’re chasing as many cars as you want on the other side buddy._

_The kids will never forget their first pet thanks to you,_

_-Love The Cremlies_

“Uh, what?”

Unknown to Gamzee was that Ziggy once was a rumbustious golden retriever that loved to chase anything that moved, which unfortunately included cars. It was a sunny autumn morning the day all three young children of the Cremlies family found him in a horrific mess after what seemed like a routine car chase gone wrong. What the children didn’t know was that the perpetrator of the crime was none other than Mr Cremlies, who had run over Ziggy late at night when he was just getting home from his fantasy baseball league. Something his wife must never know about, not under any circumstances. Never. She ruins everything.

Ziggy was buried at the pet cemetery, a little handpicked bouquet of flowers and a green collar gently laid atop the grave. Snuggled in those daisies was this very photograph.

The photograph that Gamzee decided to steal one night when he was drunk on half a bottle of tequila, seven shots of vodka and high on LSD. Deciding it was a miracle that he had stumbled onto this picture and that this dog was now his dog and didn’t deserve to be all alone, as he sat atop Ziggy’s tomb stone not wearing any pants.

Gamzee hummed in thought, slipping the dog back into his wallet. “Looks like I be a little low on money,” Carelessly throwing the jumper aside, he crept into the kitchen.

Crouching down on his heels, he opened a small cupboard in the corner. Reaching inside, his arm up to his shoulder was swallowed in. He patted around, tongue poking out in concentration. He smiled in triumph when his hand touched a box, grabbing it and pulling it out. The box was surprisingly well kept, if not a bit dusty, approximately the size of his forearm. He flicked open the metal clips on either side and opened it.

Inside was an assortment of drugs, ranging from the best weed on the market to cocaine and Krocodil. He sniffed, rubbing his nose as he picked through them, deciding on which ones to sell. He grabbed two rolls of weed wrapped in gladwrap. Leaning back and straining his arm he opened a draw to his right, pulling out a handful of zip-lock bags varying in size and stuffed them into his pants pocket. He hummed as he browsed, holding up a few to inspect. Deciding on a couple pills of ecstasy, MDMA and a strip of rainbow printed LSD blotters, just in case anyone asked for something else besides the usual. He rubbed his eyes.

“Not in the motherfucking mood to be sellin’ too much,” He muttered. “This brother just be in need of a lil’money is all.” Closing the box back up and putting it away, Gamzee hoisted himself up and left the kitchen. He put on some ratty runners without bothering to tie the shoe laces. Snatching the jumper off the ground and taking his keys from the sofa and went out the door, locking it behind him.

Outside the wind blew wildly in short bursts, the sky beginning to darken. Gamzee’s hair swayed with the wind, stray strands whipping around his face. He sighed and started walking to his usual spot near an old service station, face slackening as his mind wondered. The walk took about twenty minutes, passing by derelict apartment buildings and strange stores. A homeless man ambled past him, muttering breathlessly as he pushed his trolley full of blankets and trinkets. Gamzee smiled absently.

“He smelt like cat food.”

Arriving to his destination, he stretched out his limbs and yawned. Sluggishly walking to the back of the station with his hand buried in his jumper’s pockets. Finding a nice spot to lean on, he waited.

There was a nice view of under the bridge from here, graffiti memorials painted on the beams, large sprawls of tents and make-shift homes. The barrel fires were beginning to be lit, small glowing orange spots spread out evenly. He scratched at his scalp in boredom.

Three hours past, he managed to sell a quarter of the weed to a couple and almost all the ecstasy to a bunch of guys checking out a new club, making three hundred and ninety two dollars. It was dark now, the only light coming from the illuminated neon sign of the gas station.

A short young man approached Gamzee from the darkness, wearing a thick green hooded jacket and jeans. He wore an orange beanie that caused the tips of his hair to fan out and frame his round face. Gamzee grinned, pushing off the wall and strolling up to meet him.

“Hey my brother! Sure as motherfuck miraculous for these eyes of mine to see a familiar face,” The man chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah sure is nice to see you to brother, ‘specially since I got me a party to go to tomorrow and be in needing some supplies. What you got today huh? And don’t hold out on me brother,” He spoke with a minor lilt, head swaying gently in rhythm with his words. Gamzee chortled, pulling out all from his pockets.

“Wasn’t planning on motherfucking staying out too long on this wicked tonight my ninja, got to be all in places now and shit, motherfucking important miracles. My motherfucking apologies if I ain’t got what y’all out for Jay-bro.”

“Yeah whatever Gamzee, just give me half that weed and two lines of the blotters. Eh and some of them Mollys, concert at the Spades club happening next week. And don’t go calling me Jay no more, its Jacob now.” He said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Sure thing my brother, Jacob-bro it is.” He handed Jacob one roll of weed and a zip-lock bag containing the acid and pills. “Be about hmm, three hundred and ten-ish bucks, but since y’all be one of my most wicked of invertebrothers, this motherfucker be asking for two hundred eighty five.” Jacob grinned, giving Gamzee a smack on the shoulder.

“Thanks brother,” He rifled through his pockets and pulled out a small bundle of cash, peeling away a few bills and exchanged them for the drugs. “You be too kind to me.” Gamzee opened his mouth to reply when he heard a crash.

“W-weh!”

Both he and Jacob whirled around to see a teenage boy, with skin so white it clashed with the night and a single purple streak in his hair, trip over a trash can. His head snapped to glare at them, cheeks burning red.

“Wh-what are you two sods looking at?” He stuttered, pushing himself of the pavement, frantically dusting himself off. “Why don’t you just mind your own f-fucking business!” He swished back his stripped scarf and straightened, before giving them the most pompous face Gamzee had ever seen. “Arseholes!” Both Gamzee and Jacob stared in confusion.

“Wait a motherfucking minute brother,” Gamzee said with scrutiny. “Y’all look, pretty motherfucking familiar…” His eyes widened in realization. “Aspirin?” The boy choked in outrage.

“What? _What?_ It’s Eridan! _Eridan._ You piece of uneducated trash! Who in their right mind would call their child fucking _Aspirin?_ Oh, _oh_ my God I hate you so, so muc-“He suddenly froze, a snobby deer in headlights. “Fuck you!” He yelled and ran away into the night.

“Man what a pretentious asshole,” Jacob muttered, yanking down his beanie.

“I know that motherfucker.” Gamzee wondered aloud. Jacob tapped him with the back of his hand.

“Seems that way huh? I gotta go man, good luck with wherever the fuck you got to be. Oh, and tell me if you whip up and of that special star dust you hear? See you ‘round.” Gamzee waved him off.

“Yeah brother, yeah.” He watched the knocked over trash can rattle as it continued to slowly roll. “Something about that motherfucker.” He muttered, and trudged home. “Something important.”

It rained on the way home, street lights reflecting on the pavement in watery pools. Gamzee ran.

Climbing up the stairs of his apartment building, pressing his palms to the walls for support. Pulling out his keys he unlocked the door.

Inside he flopped down onto the couch, ignoring his soaking clothes bleeding into the cushions. The babies silent. He was meant to do something. Itching his head he clicked his tongue rhythmically, beginning to feel the sharp wiry fuzz of a headache. His phone vibrated. Lazily pulling it out, he checked the text message.

Message from: KarBro

_WHY HAVEN’T YOU BEEN ON TROLLIAN YOU PUSS SMEAR, I NEED TO FUCKING TALK TO YOU ABOUT THE ALL MYSTERIOUS PURPLE BEDAZZLED SHIT, REMEMBER FUCKFACE? RING ANY FUCKING BELLS CUM SNORTER? ERIDAN. WE NEED TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT THE HIPSTER PIECE OF FUCKING GARBAGE._

Gamzee’s mind stirred, slowly pressing the call button. It rang four times before it picked up.

“Gamzee? Fucking finally, bit late aren’t we? Did you just fucking decided to get on the all aboard lets shit on Karkat’s life train, or were you just feeling fucking special this afternoon? Jesus Christ you inside out arsehole are you fucking listening to me? And I hope all this ‘actually using your phone to call’ thing doesn’t become a habit or I’ll start to get fucking worried.”

“I motherfucking saw that guy, uh, Adrian? Nah brother Erisdin? Ermbin?” He heard a long suffering sigh.

“Eridan, Gamzee, Eridan.”

“Yeah bro, that motherfucker Eridan! Saw him like, with his scarf in all…yeah.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Oh my god fucking where Gamzee,” Karkat ground out. _“Where?”_

“Oh, near the motherfucking bridge brother,” The other end was soundless for a while.

“Gamzee,”

“Yeah brother?”

“Is there a Starbucks near there?”

“Doesn’t sound exactly like a fine place where, uh, this motherfucker hangs out my brother,”

“The answer to the question I never asked Gamzee,” Gamzee stared into space.

“What?”

“Oh my _God_. Starbucks Gamzee, where is the closet Starbucks? The coffee shop? The one with douche bags, the apple Macs, Mumford and sons and all that fancy shit?” Gamzee mauled it over, scratching his belly.

“No?”

“Jesus, the, the one with the fish lady who looks like she’s spreading her weird fishy legs open on the logo. It’s green,”

“Oh yeah, yeah motherfucker knows that one, but they cut off the bit with her-“

“Yes! Yes I fucking know! That one! Are there any of those around?”

“Uh not motherfucking really… like, maybe near the motherfucking station. Maybe.” Karkat hummed.

“I’m trolling Fef, she says that there’s one on the other side of the bridge, near the ‘burbs,” Karkat grumbled. “I fucking hate the ‘burbs.”

“Motherfucker they ain’t so bad,” Gamzee grunted.

“Yes they fucking are, not everyone is immune or too brain dead to ignore people judging them,”

“They isn’t judgin’, just all up and mystified by our miracles,”

“Do you even know what mystified even means?”

“Miracles.”

“Just, sure, yes. Back to the original topic at hand, Starbucks attracts spoiled hipster dicks like a pig to shit. Apparently, our mystical purple unicorn hasn’t shown up to work for three days, so that crosses out one of the places he might be. I figure though, little shit must be getting his douche bag nectar from somewhere. Now we know the general area he’s in, we can ambush the little shit,”

“Uh huh, so what are we motherfucking gonna do?”

“We are going to fucking go to that shitty café, plant our arses down and wait for the purple, sorry, violet turd to come to us.”

“Like in some motherfucking movie? All sneaky, undercover and shit?”

“Yeah, like a movie. With Will Smith and everything,”

“Like a, motherfucking stakeout?”

“Yeah Gamzee, a stakeout. A stakeout at Starbucks.”

“Motherfucking wicked brother.”

A loud crash and screams suddenly interrupted the conversation, Gamzee reacting three seconds late, jolting off the coach in shock, still clutching his phone.

“What the fuck was that? Is someone breaking in? Oh-oh my fucking, Jesus Christ Gamzee did you leave the babies _alone?”_ Gamzee juggled the phone in his hands as he ran to his room, the shrieks and bumps getting louder.

“No.” He answered quickly before hanging up.

“You _fucking liar-“_

 

 

 


End file.
